Twas the Night
by haunt-the-stars
Summary: Dick is prepared for his first Christmas alone. Wally has other plans. Coping Series.


**A/N: Just a lil Christmas piece. This is in the YJ section because that's the characterizations and world I know, but the continuity may fit more in the general DC comicverse. I don't even know, my dude. Happy holidays!**

 **Disclaimer: i own nothingnothingnothing**

In all honesty, Wally wasn't expecting Bludhaven to be very festive when he stepped out of the zeta tube. It looked cheap and sleazy during the rest of the year, so once the world stopped spinning, the bows on street lamps and string lights everywhere were a pleasant surprise. He started to whistle as he walked, feeling more and more optimistic about his little mission.

He was so caught up in the decorated storefronts that he almost didn't notice when he brushed arms with someone walking in the opposite direction. A quick glance showed him black hair and a familiar jacket. To his surprise, Dick didn't notice him either.

"Dick!" Wally jogged to him as he spun around. There was something like shock on his face, partially hidden by the typical features of Dick Grayson after a long night: dark eye circles, paling skin, messy hair.

"Wally?" he said quietly.

"Hi. I was just on my way to see y-" Wally paused, eyeing the large, blue bag Dick had an awkward grip on. "Why do you have a duffel bag?"

Dick moved the bag closer to him in a somewhat defensive gesture. "My gym bag ripped." At Wally's raised eyebrow, he continued. "I thought it would be easier to just use this today."

It was a weak lie and both of them knew it. But for fear of making him angry, Wally didn't press. "Well. I was on my way to your apartment. Let's go home, you're not going to the gym on Christmas Eve."

Dick gave an almost undetectable flinch at his last words, but nodded with a forced smile. "Yeah, sure."

Wally wrapped his arm around Dick's shoulders and made careful small talk as they headed to his building. Dick was tense. His voice was thick and tired, his steps heavy. Of course, Wally had been expecting him to be lacking his usual Christmas cheer, but not to such a depressing degree. What worried him more, though, was that Dick had been out and about in the first place. He wasn't going to the gym; that much was evident by the fact that he was walking in the completely wrong part of the city and by his small collection of superhero logo drawstring bags Wally knew he had at home. There was no reason to bring a duffel bag, and no reason to lie, not unless there was something wrong.

They fell silent at some point before reaching Dick's building, Wally shifting his backpack of Dick-comforting-supplies as they waited for the elevator.

"So, uh...where's Artemis?" Dick leaned against the elevator wall, the _why are you here_ hanging uncomfortably in the space between them.

"With her mom. I think M'gann might actually be joining them later."

Dick nodded. "And, ah...what're your parents doing?"

"Dunno. Eating, drinking, something."

"What about Iris and Ba-"

"Dick," Wally broke him off with a wince, "don't do this. Please. I'm not leaving."

A downcast look fell over his eyes and he suddenly looked small, ducking out of the elevator. "I just don't want...wanna..."

"Impose on my life because you're such a burden and don't deserve anyone and should isolate yourself forever, blah, blah, blah." Wally flipped to walk backwards towards the right door, keeping eye contact and trying to stop a breakdown before it started. "Save it. No place I'd rather be. I also have eggnog in here that will go bad very soon, so you should open the door." When Dick didn't move, he mustered up the same encouraging smile he'd been using for almost a year. "C'mon, don't give me that face. I'll start singing. Do you want me to sing?"

Finally, with a slight but genuine turn of his lips, Dick pulled out his keys and led him inside.

The apartment was cleaner than usual, no wrappers or water bottles strewn around. Dick left his bag at the door and sat down on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, while Wally did a quick sweep of the room before sitting beside him. "No lights? Tree?"

"I've been busy."

"Well, you're in luck." He unzipped his backpack with a flourish and pulled out a bundle of battery-powered string lights and two stockings. "Ta-da. I thought we could hang the stockings over the window? And maybe put the lights around the top of the walls..."

Dick silently took the socks, feeling the fabric and the embroidered letters of his and Wally's names. "Thank you," he whispered.

"No prob, Rob." Wally realized what Dick's reaction to the nickname would be half a second before he looked away and clenched his fist. "Uh. Wing king. Dickie G. Wing-Ding. Yeah, I like Wing-Ding."

"'S fine." Wally stared at him. "Really. I'm good. It's just all...touchy today. But it's okay." He carded a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable. "I'm okay."

"Yeah. Alright. So uh...lights?" Wally stood up. "We'll put on music. Don't tell me you don't still love Mariah Carey."

Dick grinned. " _I-I-I..._ "

Hours passed by, both of them thoroughly enjoying decorating. The barren apartment looked much more lively with lights and stockings. Wally could see Dick cheering up, and his crazy-sexual-acrobatic dance moves made him seem more like himself. Happy, fun, energetic. Dick hadn't been any of that much in the last year. Most of the time, he was low, and tired, and sad, and Wally couldn't pretend he wasn't worried. Today especially. But...maybe he really was okay. Maybe it was getting easier.

Once the lights were up, he broke out the next contents of his backpack, premade cookie dough and Christmas program DVDs, while Dick preheated the oven. It took him a suspiciously long time to figure out the buttons, leading Wally to accuse him of only ever using the microwave, which led to wrestling on the kitchen floor, and it took a while to actually get the cookies baking.

Dick stayed smiling while they roughhoused and while Wally ordered Chinese food, his face only falling when they put in Rudolph to watch.

"Okay?" Wally said.

"Yeah. I just...used to watch these with Bruce." Dick played with his food. Wally wanted to push, get him to finally _talk_ about the whole mess instead of trying to tuck it under a mask. But of course, Dick was _so much_ like his father, and the most Wally had ever gotten out of him were tearful meltdowns with no explanation before and a brush-off after. It wasn't worth getting him upset if he wasn't going to let Wally help.

"Do you wanna watch something else?" he asked instead.

"It's fine. I...I like it."

Wally shrugged and pressed play, only to pause it again. "Want eggnog?"

"The fun kind?"

"If you want." He smirked, then dashed to the fridge and took out the carton and bottle he'd brought in.

Dick sat up straight and eyed the bottle. "Roy?"

Wally nodded.

"How'd you get him to give you rum?"

"Told him it was just you and me, and that we wouldn't go anywhere, and that I wouldn't let you have too much." Dick pouted at the last condition, watching Wally mix the drinks with a vibrating finger.

"I'm not that young."

"Still our baby. Cheers."

Wally's concoction turned out to be much stronger than he intended, but a speedster's metabolism didn't exactly lend itself well to getting drunk. Hence, he didn't notice until Rudolph was almost over and Dick was already past the realm of tipsy that maybe they needed to stop. He started to stand, reaching for the rest of the drinks to store away, but noticed that Dick had latched himself to his side.

Right. Tipsy Wally had poor observation skills and drunk Dick was snuggly. He relaxed back and put a hand on Dick's head, which was resting just below his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Mmhm." Dick closed his eyes, a warm smile playing across his lips. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, anytime." The movie played out, leaving them in silence. Wally let his arm drop around Dick's shoulders and was half invested in looking at their remaining selection of movies by the next time he spoke.

"I was gonna check myself into a psych ward today," he said quietly, face still against Wally's chest.

Wally froze. "Huh?"

"Just for tonight and tomorrow." The implications were painful. "Didn't think I was gonna make it."

Subconsciously, Wally tightened his hold on his friend. He forced himself to take a deep breath so Dick wouldn't see him get scared, focusing on the warm and _alive_ body under his arm. "Why didn't you talk to me?" he muttered.

"Mm...didn't wanna ruin Christmas. W's'just gonna go in and come out...on the twenty-sixth." Dick burrowed further into him. "Tha's where I was going earlier."

Wally rubbed his thumb over the back of Dick's neck. "We had a promise, you know. About when you felt bad."

"I always feel bad." He gave an empty laugh. "I'd be calling you every night." Then he paused, his face going serious again. "I did stupid things a lot this year."

"Dick..."

"And s'weird. Because...because if _they_ hadn't died I wouldn't be all alone and I wouldn't wanna die on Christmas." He furrowed his brow, hand fisting into Wally's sweater. "But I don't really...I don't _want_ them here anymore. I want _Bruce_ here. 'S that bad?"

"No, it's not bad."

Dick was silent for a while, deep in thought and starting to look glassy-eyed. "He's really done with me, huh? I thought maybe...Christmas miracle? I dunno." The next noise out of him sounded a little like a sob, even though Wally was sure it was supposed to be a chuckle. "He never said he loved me but I thought that was 'cause he couldn't, not because he didn't."

"Dick, I'm sure he would talk it out with you if you called, or...or something."

"Yeah, lemme just call him and we'll hug it out like we always have." Dick took in a shaky breath and looked up at him with a brokenness that called him back to their teenage days, when long nights and sleeves were a new and terrifying part of life. "Why'd he leave me?"

 _How do you respond to that?_

Wally sighed. "He messed up, buddy, it's not your fault."

"I wanna go home. It's Christmas, I should be home with my dad and...and you should be home! Why are you still here?" Dick abruptly slid across the couch away from Wally. "Go home. You should be with your family."

"I am." He followed, taking Dick's cold hand in his. "Aren't you always talking about how blood doesn't make family?"

Dick's lip trembled. "I-I'm sorry. I'm happy you're here, I'm just...it just-"

"Hurts?"

Dick nodded and snatched his hand back, eyes screwed shut.

"Hey, look at me."

"No." He dropped his head to his hands, pulling roughly at his hair.

"Dick-"

"I can't."

"You're allowed to cry."

"I _can't_."

Scooting over, Wally pulled Dick against his side again and rubbed his arm. "Cry."

Half-sobs choked out of him, stifled by his hands.

"Dick, honey..."

Wally never underestimated the power of the word _honey_. It told Artemis he loved her, it told little kids in trouble that they were safe, and it told Dick that he wasn't going anywhere. Which was exactly the sort of sentiment that broke Dick's weak popsicle-stick walls down and let him fall apart into Wally's chest, clinging to him with the grip of death or a baby koala.

Wally sat quietly and rubbed his back, trying to keep his touch light so Dick wouldn't be reminded of Bruce too much, and they spent the next hour of their holiday curled on the couch with hardly any words exchanged. Once Dick had gone fifteen minutes in a relative calm, Wally brushed the hair out of his eyes.

"You know I love you, right?"

Dick nuzzled into Wally's neck. "I..." - a sigh - "am just as bad as him, apparently."

"People tend not to touch the things that have hurt them," Wally said. "I'm not gonna leave you, though. I promise. You don't have to go to any psych wards, okay? Unless you think that would help you, of course, but...not just to avoid being home alone. You can call me. Whenever. And I'll be right here in twenty seconds because I'm the second fastest man alive and I love you."

Dick sniffled and lifted his head to make eye contact. "Thanks, Walls."

"Mmhm. Now c'mon, if we don't go to sleep then Santa won't come." He pulled them down to lie on the couch, Wally curled up around Dick protectively. "Goodnight, Dick."

"Goodnight." Both of them closed their eyes and snuggled a little closer, content with each other for the moment.

Dick fell asleep quickly, and Wally soon after him, but the latter found himself awake before morning with some sort of clicking sound behind his head. Craning his neck to see the window without waking Dick, he trained his eyes on a dark shape obscuring the moonlight. It moved slightly, and pointy ears revealed themselves.

Wally watched, unmoving, as the figure broke into the window lock somehow, slid the window open, placed something rectangular on the window sill with a gloved hand, and closed the window again. Then it seemed to nod at him, and disappeared.

It sort of looked like Batman just played Santa Claus, but Wally was tired, and that was a little insane, and he thought maybe he was dreaming. He was asleep again before he could decide, not even bothering to see what the object was.

"Wally."

"Mmm?"

"Wally!"

"Yeah, 'm up...what...what is't?"

"Did you put this here?"

Wally opened his eyes. The sun was up and Dick was wide awake, holding a book in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other. "What is it?"

"It's...this Roald Dahl book." Dick's voice quieted. "It's about...a father and son...and they live in a Romani caravan...a-and Bruce read it to me a lot. When I was little."

Wally sat up straight, glancing to the window immediately. The book was the same size as the mysterious object in his dream. Or...not-dream. "Is that a note?"

"It was sticking out and I'm scared to read it," Dick mumbled. "I...I dunno."

"Give it to me." Wally took the note and unfolded it, eyes scanning the paper. "It just says... _always_."

Dick grabbed the note back and stared at it himself for a good thirty seconds, drinking it in. "It's his handwriting," he finally whispered.

Wally smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They were silent for a beat or two.

"Are you gonna cry?"

"Mmhm."

Wally caught him in a hug, relief overtaking him. Dick was _smiling_ , and Bat-Santa was real, and Wally wasn't going to have to kick any billionaire's ass after all.

 _At least not this time, Wayne._

"Merry Christmas, bud," he murmured.

"Merry Christmas, Wally."


End file.
